Hetalia Suicides
by Northern Narnia
Summary: Have you ever heard of it? All of the nations used to be humans, but died in a certain way. After they died, they went into a heaven-like world..not really they're just in a new world of where they're nations. They're all dying by the way so don't expect this to be happy in any way. Literally this is all suicides or deaths that were accidental. Sooo yeah Request a nation if you wan
1. Feliciano Vargas: Depression

"You've gotten over it pretty fast, Feli." Mark said, as he shoved another forkful of eggs into his mouth. The crowded café that we sat in was extremely busy this day. Laughter surrounded us, as did the sounds of loud talking and silver hitting porcelain. Yet, I slightly jolted at the sound of him speaking. "Hm~? Gotten over what?" I replied, poking at the scrambled eggs I had in front of me. They didn't look the best, but I guess I can't judge them. It is very busy today. The silver fork clinked against the plate as I tapped it against the filled plate. The blond man looked up, his face twisted in shame as he gulped roughly.

He knew that he brought up a subject that shouldn't be mentioned. We both knew it. The silver fork clattered on his nearly empty plate, he then started to pick at his fingernails. Which was something he's only ever done when he was truly upset. He's done so many times before. I've only noticed that he does that just a few weeks ago. "Mark, gotten over what?" I hummed, tilting my head. My auburn hair getting in the way of my honey gaze. Mark's eyes were filled with guilt as he looked at me in the eyes. The aura of sadness and shame filled the air around out table. Not that it affected me.

"Your...grandfather..." He spoke in soft, quiet words. As if he didn't even want me to hear them. But I did, and my heart clenched at the sound of the very word. I knew that he was going to bring up the subject, but it still set pain throughout my body. I felt my smile start to falter, but I quickly forced it. He can't know. "Things...happen that you can't stop." I finally said after a long silence. His shoulders slightly relaxed and he slightly smiled in an apology. My gaze averted from him, and to my plate. I wasn't hungry anymore. My appetite was ruined. Not that it bothered me. As I almost placed the fork on the unused napkin resting next to the almost full plate, Mark made a small, whimper sound. I glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow, then giggled as I slid over the plate to him. His puppy eyes turned right and cheerful as he grabbed his fork off his empty plate, and dug into mine.

"I'm sorry for bringing that up..you know, back in the café." Mark said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. We were walking down the side of one of the canals. The sun was still bright enough that it was warm, even if it was growing later. My head was still tilted upward, allowing the sun to bathe over my face for the last time today before it was to hide, as I grinned at him. "It's fine..." I replied, and brought Mark to a gondola waiting at the edge of the Rio della Sensa canal. "Ciao, AI Mori D'Oriente Hotel si prega." Mark said to the red haired gondolier. Who smiled, and nodded as he stood up. After he helped him into the gondola, I waved goodbye to him. "Addio, Feli! Ci vediamo domani!" He shouted, then sat down and began to talk to the gondolier. I stopped waving and watched him slowly gliding away, until he was out of sight. My usual grin then dropped, as did my arm. I allowed my expression changed from upbeat and cheerful, to dull and emotionless in just seconds. I shoved my frail hands in my coat pockets, and ducked my head as I spun on my heels and began walking. It was a long way back to my hotel.

Once I finally got to the hotel, a place called Al Canal Regio, I silently opened the door, the terrible smell of rat and dirt filled my nose. But I've gotten so used to it, that it didn't faze me as much as it used too. I looked up at the empty desk, and made my way to my small, cramp room. I didn't run into anyone, for no one usually went to this hotel. It was called "The Worst in All of Vince." and for a reason. Once I finally made it to my room, I opened the door, but ended up slamming it into the restroom door. I groaned, the door wasn't even half way open. Luckily, I easily slid into the opening, and slammed the door shut. The burning heat of the room no longer fazed me, as didn't the small rodents that scampered in the walls.

I turned around and faced my room, though it was small, I at least tried to keep it clean. I rubbed my fingers against my sore cheeks. It never bothered me to smile back then, why does it hurt so much now? Why does everything hurt? A soft sigh escaped my lips as I squeezed my way through my room, and eventually collapsed on the rough couch bed. My dull gaze stared at the ceiling, not caring about the stains of God knows what. My thoughts soon came back to me. The terrible reality of my horrid life. As my eyes closed, the voice returned.

"An Italian man, around the age of forty or older, has died in a tragic murder. At around five p.m last night, he was walking home one night down this walkway when two armed assailants robbed, and stabbed the man thirteen times in the chest. As you can see here, the only evidence left behind was a single bloody shoe print. He was found dead at six a.m today when a lady, who asked to remain anonymous, who decided to take a short cut to her job. The killers have not been found, and are still at large."

I shot open my now wet eyes and chocked out a sob. To this day those bastards are still out there. It's been four months since he had died. My grandfather...the only man who took me in when my parents left me to die. The only man who stood up for me when others were beating me down. The only man who actually cared about me. The hot tears fell from my eyes, dripping down my cheeks and in my hair. My mouth was gaping like a fish. Opening and closing, as if I were trying to speak, but no words nor sound came out. My hands covered my face as a sob finally escaped from my lips.

I have no one. No one who loves me. No one who cares about me. My grandfather is gone. My parents are gone. My friends are gone. I know for a fact that Mark only hangs around me because I pay for his breakfast every morning, and make him food. Everyone left me. I never even had friends before Grandfather died. He was the only one who kept me sane, and happy. But...now he's gone. He's gone and never returning. Never again will I see him, or hear him comfort me. Before I knew it, a headache soon throbbed in my head. My body sat up, and I uncovered my red face, and sniffled. My skull throbbed as I stumbled over to the cupboard. I flung open the old, pine wood cabinet and drug through the pills.

They were all empty anti-depressants. That's not what I want I want my painkillers. The orange bottles clattered against the already cracked marble counter as I grew more frantic. The throbbing, aching pain was growing worse by the second. I cried out when I finally found a full bottle of both anti-depressants and painkillers. My once dull eyes then lit up as I placed my palm on the white cap, and popped it off. I spilled the white pills and pushed one to the side as I reached up to the one wine glass I owned. My shaking hand finally grasped it, and I brought it down to my face. I looked into the shaking glass and looked back at my cabinet. So many empty bottles...I looked back at the white pills on the counter, then to the glass.

The feeling was back.

But this time, I didn't ignore it. My heart clenched as I opened the other cupboard, and stared at my last bottle of wine. It was the bottle Grandfather gave me it for my tenth birthday as a "Secret Gift." I've been keeping it for years and years...maybe now it was time to pop it open? I tilted my head as my hand reached forward, but it twitched back. What was I going to drink it for? What was the special occasion? My head pounded the more I thought, but I finally decided on what the wine was to be used for. I wrapped my fingers around the thick, black bottle, and brought it down to the counter. It landed on the marble with a loud clatter, shaking the bottles and glass.

I opened a drawer, and dug through the trash drawer until I finally found the bottle opener. I shoved the metal screw into the cork, and twisted it quickly. It hurt my palms, but I ignored it. My desperation was growing by the second. I wanted to see my grandfather. I need to see him. I miss him so much. I felt my throat tighten as my eyes watered. My head hurts so much. The bottle finally opened, but spilled. I ignored the sticky, red wine on my hands and threw the cork and screw in the corner of the apartment, which wasn't very far. I lifted the bottle and, with a shaking hand, poured the liquid into the glass. Some splashed on the counter, but I stopped caring. Once the wine bottle was set down, I grabbed one of the pills and placed it in my mouth. I lifted the almost full glass to my lips.

Then stopped.

Should I have done this?...Too late to go back now. My plans are set. I took a mouthful of the wine, and gulped down the pill with it. The wine was sweet, and strong. I almost immediately snatched a handful of the pills on the counter and shoved them in my mouth. I took another mouthful of the wine. The process repeated over and over until both the painkillers and the anti-depressants were gone. My headache was forgotten, and I giggled. "Oh~ The world is so fun~" I sang as I spun around, and tripped. I landed roughly on the bed, and hiccuped. "The world is a ci~rcle~" I slurred as I stood myself up, and looked back at the counter, the trash drawer was open. I stumbled over to it. "If..if you draw a circle." I muttered as I hiccuped once more, my blurred vision spotted something metal. "Ah...it's the Earth! Aren't I ri~ght?" I spoke to no one as I grabbed the metal thing, and pulled it out.

It was a knife.

A smile tugged at my lips. "The Earth is so fun~" I hummed as I wiped the sweat from my head. "World is so lonely." I sang softly, my voice cracked, and was interrupted by a hiccup. My drunken gaze moved from the knife, to the sink. The pills weren't working fast enough, so. I glanced at my covered wrist. I slumped over the counter, and turned on the sink. I then hopped on top of the cold, wet marble, and laid down. I curled up slightly, and rolled up my sleeve. "Go to sleep and close your eyes...and dream of broken butterflies." I softly sang, it was a song...from America I believe? I don't know...The knife pressed against my skin.

"That tore their wings against a thorn...you know the pain that they've endured..." I slowly blinked as it dragged down my sensitive skin. "Silver metal shine so bright scarlet blood that feels so right." The crimson liquid dripped from the cuts. The pills were starting to kick in. I could feel myself growing more tired by the second. "Dream of that blood trickling down...and wake up...just before you...drown." My eyelids grew heavy as the blade dug deeper into my flesh, causing a small wince. "The moonlight..sh-shining off your tears...as you...b-bleed out your worst fears." My voice grew more quiet, I could even hear myself being lost over the water. "So tonight when...you...start to cry...whisper the cutters lullaby..." The blade was twisting now. Was I doing that? I couldn't tell. My gaze was set on the pooling blood. "Hushabye...baby, you're almost...dead...You don't have a pulse and your pillows red...ha..I'm..on the counter.." I slightly smiled as my hand holding the knife went limp...it was time.

I slowly reached forward, allowing my hand to be covered with the cold water. I slowly pushed my arm up, letting the water cover my wrist. "Your f-family hates you...your friends l-let you bleed...sleep ti-tight with a knife, cause that's all you need..." The water made the blood slip from my wrist faster. Small dots started to cover my vision. "Rockabye ba-baby, b-broken and...scarred...You didn't know... life w-would be th-this hard..." My eyelids soon closed over my eyes. I allowed the last few words slip from my mouth, before everything went quiet and black.

"Time to e-end...the pain you h-hid so well...and d-down...you go baby...stra-straight...back to...hell."

Maybe the next life will be better.


	2. Gilbert Beilschmidt: Bleeding Out

He was always the favourite.

Everyone loved him more.

I stared in the mirror, comparing how different I looked from a few years ago to now. My snow white hair used to be slightly puffed and healthy looking, now it was lightly coated in grease from me not taking a shower in a few days. What was the point in showering? The only time I ever got wet now is if I'm washing my cuts off. My wine coloured eyes used to be so lively, hold so much happiness, now they're sunken, dull, and tired. I haven't slept in days, I can't sleep anymore. My head is always buzzing with thoughts, how can I sleep when I can't stop thinking? So many thoughts run through my head at night, it's almost impossible to keep my pride and not breakdown crying. My pale body was still very pale, but now held slashes of red almost everywhere. My chest was cut, my legs, wrists, even lower back. Some new, some scarred. I've lost a lot of weight, now that I look at myself. Well, it doesn't matter...I grabbed my long sleeve shirt off of the ground and slid it on with ease. I was glad I started wearing baggy shirts for two reasons, one, no one can see how skinny I've gotten, and two, it doesn't rub against any of my cuts. I sighed as I looked in the mirror one last time, time to fake the act again.

"Hey Lud, dad, how are you two doing this awesome day?" I shouted as I slid into the kitchen with my socks. They were black and white striped fuzzy socks, so I slid pretty far. Far enough to slam my hip against the corner of the stone counter. Pain automatically shot through my body as I collapsed to the ground, I silently cried out as I held my hip. I can't cry out loud, that would show weakness. I can't let my father think I'm weak, well more weak than he thinks I already am. Once the pain slightly subsided, I shot up off the ground and pointed a thumb at my chest, grinning widely. I slightly leaned against the counter so that way my hip would have less stress on it. "No worries I'm fine!" I looked at the two sitting at the table, neither of them looked up from what they were doing. My brother, Ludwig was sitting across from Father, reading a stupid book. While Father was reading a stupid newspaper.

My smile slightly faltered, but didn't go away. I slid over to my brother, and wrapped my pale arm around his broad shoulders, he didn't look away from the book he was reading. He's been reading that book for days, I wonder when he'll finish it. "Ludwig c'mon want to go outside and play an awesome game?" I pouted, slightly shaking him, only to get a sigh of annoyance in return. I almost poked his face, but heard a loud thud from where Father was sitting. I slightly jumped, and glanced over at him. His fist was the source of the loud thud, he slammed it on the table. "Stop pestering your brother, Failure." He said, his voice slightly tainted with annoyance. I lifted my arm off of his shoulder, and grinned. "Ah, I was just messin around." I shrugged, his cold blue eyes glared into my tired red ones. After a small staring contest, he finally looked back at his newspaper.

I laughed loudly, and pumped my fist in the air. "The awesome me won the staring contest! I deserve an awesome awa-" I was cut off by my father giving another cold glare. I never knew why, but that glare always made me feel uncomfortable and caused me to shut up, as if he was mentally transmitting a message that told me to do so. I held my hands up, and turned towards the fridge. My hip still slightly throbbed, but not as much as it did before. "Don't touch the alcohol." My brother said, I slightly looked back at him, and rolled my eyes. "C'mon Lud, I'm over twenty I can make my own decisions." I said, sticking my tongue out as I opened the fridge. "Listen to your brother, Failure." Father spat, I looked back at him, and made a face. Did he really just tell me to listen to my _younger_ brother? Anger boiled inside of me as I blurted out one sentence. "He's my younger brother, dad, why do I have to listen to him?"

Time seemed like it stopped at that moment. I widened my eyes once I realised my mistake. I felt my heart pick up its pace when my father slowly looked up from his newspaper. We locked eye contact, I swallowed roughly as I gave a small smile. "Ah, yeah, totally I'll just go upstairs, not touching the alcohol." I quickly said, scratching the back of my head as I almost ran out of the kitchen. "Stop." I inhaled sharply as I slowly turned to look at my father. His expression was cold, and unforgiving. "You dare talk back to me?" He said, slowly closing the newspaper, and setting it on the table. Ludwig slightly looked up from his book, but only pushed up his glasses and kept on reading. Of course he wouldn't help me, why would he help his older brother. I took a slow breath, and stared at Father. You know what? I'm sick of this, what's the worst thing that could happen? "I didn't mean to say it, it just slipped out." I said defensively, oh little did I know how big of an argument I would get in.

"You spoiled brat, you're nothing but a pathetic excuse for a son." He spat, I angrily groaned and slapped my hand on his chest, pushing him back a little. "Look at you! You think you're the best dad in the world but you're not! You've shoved me down over and over since I could remember, you've insulted me, hurt me, but what does Ludwig get? None of that! You never hurt Ludwig!" I shouted, my strident voice was now tremulous. His eyes widened as he slapped my arm down, causing me to wince at the pain. I felt a warm liquid drip down my arm, and bit my lip. Great, some of them are open now. It didn't rise, or lower my anger at him though. "Don't talk about your brother in that way. I treat-" Before he could finish, I shot my hands up, and gripped them in my air, I grinned widely as I walked in a small circle. "Oh here we go, you talking about how you treat us the same." I stopped walking and looked at him. "Listen up old man, I know the truth. I've known it for a while, I might seem like an idiot, but I'm not. You hate me don't you? I'm not perfect enough to be classified as your son. Even since he was born, I saw the look in your eyes every time you looked at him. You were proud of him. Even at his mistakes you were proud to call him your son. Is it because I'm albino? I'm not blond and don't have perfect blue eyes? Is it because I'm not as strong as him? Is it because I'm not an exact copy of you!?" I shouted, tears brimmed my eyes.

No one spoke, it would have been completely silent if it hadn't been for my heavy breathing. My father closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He opened his mouth to speak, but I grabbed his shoulders and roughly shook him. "No, Brandolf Beilschmidt look at me in the eyes and tell me what it is. Does my own father hate me?" I growled the question, though I was close to tears. The long blond haired man slowly opened his eyes, I stared into them. "Tell me." I whispered, gripping his shoulders tighter, though, due to the fact that I've lost weight, it probably wasn't very tight. I clenched my jaw when he didn't speak immediately, it was something he should be able to talk about simply and quickly. "I don't hate you." He pulled away from my grip, and turned to walk back at the table, Ludwig left a long time ago to avoid getting into the argument. I almost grabbed him again, but saw his eyes staring at me from the side. "I despise you."

I froze and widened my eyes. Ever so slowly, I turned my head to look at him. "You're fucking with me right? You can't loathe your own son. I'm your first born." I said, I felt like I knew it. I thought I was prepared to hear it. But I wasn't. Hearing my own father say that he despised me, after everything I've ever done to please him. I tried so hard when I was a child to try to please him. I went out hunting when he was asleep on fathers day, I gave him my favourite sword when his broke, I tried so hard to get his approval. I nearly died multiple times trying to get him to at least smile at me, but he never did. My eyes filled with tears as I backed up slightly. "You're not my son, you've never been my son. You're just a mistake." My throat tightened as I stumbled back, I felt my eyes water, but tried to keep the tears from falling. "Mistake." I whispered to myself as I spun on my heels, and ran up the stairs.

Once I got into my room, I slammed the door shut and quickly locked it. My heart throbbed as an involuntary sob chocked out of my throat. I quickly stumbled to my desk, pulled out the chair, and shoved it in front of the doorknob, making it harder for anyone on the outside to open it. My knees felt weak, I felt lightheaded. I collapsed on my bed, which luckily for me wasn't far from the door. Though my legs were hanging off, I didn't care. I just let myself sink into the soft mattress, the sheets smelled freshly of flowers. I washed them just the other day...they're so soft. Soon, I pulled myself up on the bed, and laid flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. Tears fell freely from my eyes. I let go of my pride...not that there was much left of it after the argument. I don't know how long I stared at the ceiling, but it felt like hours. I felt so empty, as if I was nothing but a ghost inhabiting a hollow doll. I didn't bother cleaning up my arm, who cares if the blood gets everywhere?

I'm nothing but a pathetic excuse for a son. Everything I've ever done was nothing but a mistake. I shouldn't have been born, I should have died a long time ago. I'm just an obnoxious idiot who can't even get his own father to like him. I thought I had nothing left to cry, but my eyes felt wet once more. My own brother probably hates me too doesn't he? I mean if my father likes him more, of course he could talk bad about me to him, he probably thinks I'm just an awful person. I'm just a mistake. He's the perfect child. He's tall, blond, blue eyes, strong, he's just the perfect person. I'm nothing but a failure. While he's so quite and scholar-like, I'm just loud and annoying. I shouldn't have of been born, I shouldn't live. My father, and brother hate me. My friends hate me. Did I even have friends? Probably not. I'm a nuisance, a pathetic pathetic nuisance. I don't deserve to live.

I slowly blinked and sighed. Maybe I shouldn't live. I held up my arms, and looked at my wrists. My baggy sleeves slid down my arms, my left wrist wasn't bleeding anymore, but there was a bunch of dry blood stained my pale skin and shirt. I lolled my head to the side, my glazed over eyes stared at the bathroom door. I guess...there's nothing left to do but this. My life has no meaning anymore, I'm just a mistake. I rolled to my side, and slowly sat up. My body ached, but I ignored it and forced myself to stand up. I guess this is the only thing that will get Fathers attention, right? No, he wouldn't care...yes he would. He would care if I died...

He would care because that means that his pathetic excuse for a son is dead, and his pride and joy is now his only son. He doesn't have to deal with my loud voice every day, he doesn't have to deal with my mistakes anymore. He doesn't have to deal with me anymore. All of my random mishaps, like the time I tried to microwave a fork with ice to see if it would still blow up. I gave a small smile. Oh that was the good old times. Back when I still had the hope that he would accept me. I was so young and innocent. As I walked to the bathroom, I started thinking about the past. I remember one time I switched out Ludwig's hair gel with glue. I put plastic wrap on the doorway, and ran under it, and when Ludwig chased me he got a face full of plastic. Once Father found out he grounded me for two weeks.

I remember this one girl I used to play with when I was really young. I wish I could remember he face and name, but all I remember about her was that she always hit me. I could never tell if she was serious about it or not, but concerting how she always played with me after I never took offence to it. I wish she was still here. She moved to another country years and years ago. She was one of my only friends. I had online friends, but they'll never notice that I'm gone, much less dead. We don't even talk much due to different timezones.

I opened the cabinet under the sink and dug around the small box in it. I always hid it on the way bottom. My fingers danced over the random times until they finally felt something small, metal, and cold. I smiled as I pulled it out, the silver razor. Small blotches of red still stained it, but it doesn't matter. I pulled up my sleeve, but stopped. This was slow. I need a faster way. I gave my gun to Ludwig for his birthday a while back, and there was no way in hell I was going to chock myself to death. I shuttered at the thought. I looked back at the razor, and glanced around the bathroom. What about the bathtub? I blinked a few times before giving up. I crawled over to the bathtub, and turned on the water. I twisted the plug down and waited for it to fill up. I don't care how hot or cold the water is, I just wanted to get this over with. So that way my father can live his happy life with my brother, and forget about me.

Once the water was a little over half way, I turned off the water, and removed my clothing. I stepped in the tub, and sighed. Okay maybe I do care about the temperature, it was fucking freezing. I bit my lip, and quickly sunk down into the tub. It was so cold. Hey, I guess that's another thing that can kill me. I slowly moved the razor to my wrist. Was I actually going to do this? The blade pressed against my already abused skin. I guess I am. The blade pressed down in my skin, causing me to slightly wince. I kept on pressing down, and bit on my tongue to keep from making loud noises. The blade sunk deeper and deeper into my flesh, I refused to stop. What if I don't cut deep enough and I live? I watched the beautiful swirls of red that escaped from my wrist. The dark red blood swirled close around my wrist, but the farther the blood went the more lightly coloured it became. It was like art. I stopped pressing down on the blade, and threw the blade on the ground, outside of the tub. The metal item clanked, the blood lightly dotted the ground.

The cold water lapped at my wrist, allowing the blood to spread around the tub. I laid back, my back pressing against the cold, smooth side of the tub. I stared at the ceiling, my vision started to get dotted. It was hard to breath. My breaths were short but quick. I swallowed roughly, and slightly looked at the water. It was a nice red colour. Not completely red, it was still slightly pink. I guess this is a quick way to die. I smiled as I closed my eyes. Now Father can be truly happy with his son.

His only son.

Maybe the next life will be better.


	3. Alfred F Jones: Abuse

I rocked back and forth in my empty room. There wasn't anything better to do anyways, it's not like I could leave my room. Not anymore. Not after what happened last time. I gripped my thin arms tighter, and proceeded to move. It was the only thing I could do now. Moving back, and forth, back, and forth, back...and forth. The wood covered window gave little to no light in my room. I could hardly even see the corner my gaze was set too. My glasses that were long since broken were gone, so it didn't help either. My wide, blue, sunken eyes didn't move from that very spot. I refused to look anywhere else. I don't want to see him. I don't want to see him. I don't want to see him. I don't want to see him...

But what if he's not there this time?

My body stopped trembling, my breathing was the only thing heard in the room. I strained my ears to hear anything else, such as footsteps, breathing, knuckles being cracked, anything. But no sound alerted me, I trembled as I slowly turned my head to look behind me. The darkened room showed nothing out of the ordinary. I dared to turn all the way around, pressing my frail back to the wall. My spine digging into the wall. The door didn't open, no drunken shadow standing anywhere. My gaze slightly softened as I put pressure on my back, letting my spine be dug into the wall. Making a small wince escape my lips but forced my skinny legs to lift me off the ground. My back sliding up the wall, keeping me from falling down. I couldn't make any loud noise, or else I'll get hit, like last time, and the time before that. Once I stood up, my hands pressed against the wall, my fingers slightly curling. I pushed myself off the wall, and let out a small gasp when I stumbled across the room. My heart raced in my chest as I tried to regain my balance. My feet tripped over themselves, I can't fall, if I do...My heart stopped at the thought.

Luckily, I caught myself, and regained my balance, though my body was weak and small, I could still hold up my weight. Not that there was much of it. My stomach made a small noise, begging to be fed for the first time this week. I crossed my arms over it, keeping it silent. I looked around the blurry room. I slightly squinted, trying to see better, but it hardly helped. Once I gave up on trying to see my room, I looked at the window, and silently made my way over to it. I let go of my stomach, and placed my hands on the wooden boards covering the window. I was thankful that there was a small space of where I could see outside. I pressed my chest against the wood as I slightly looked outside, but had to look away when the light blinded me. I blinked many times, watching the dots of colour blur my vision even more. I haven't seen the light in what seems like forever. I was too terrified to look outside, but I had too this one time. Even if it meant being caught.

I slowly looked back outside, my eye squinting as I looked around. So that's what my neighbors house looks like...it's been so long. Didn't I have a friend in that house? I pushed away from the window, and stared blankly at nothing in my room, my starved stomach making pathetic noises. I ignored it as I tried to think about everything.

Didn't..I have a friend? I could have sworn I had one. I could have sworn I had many friends in..school? Didn't I go to school? I pressed my back against the wood, and slid down, eventually sitting down. I tried to remember my life before my parents divorced. Trying to remember my life that wasn't spent in fear and pain...Yeah...I used to have a really good friend. I can't remember his face, nor his name. But I remember how we used to play football. Football. Wasn't that my favourite sport? Or was it hockey? Wait...didn't I have a brother who loved that sport? I racked my brain, trying to remember everything, it only helped in causing a headache. Didn't...I have a brother? Someone that always used to play video games with me...I can't remember. My stomach made another noise, louder this time. I quickly wrapped my arms around it, trying to silence it. Thankfully, it worked to an extent.

I placed my head against the wall, causing a sound. Once I realized what I did, my breath hitched. My body tensed up as my eyes shot wide open, and stared at the door. I felt my limbs start to tremble in fear as I waited for the heavy footsteps to storm up the stairs, I waited for the slamming of the fist against my door, I waited for the screaming, waited for the bottles being shattered. But no sound was made from outside of my room. My prison to be more exact. I tried to think about why he didn't come up the stairs. Maybe he's asleep...My moral was slightly increased at thinking of the very thought. I relaxed, my shoulders slumped and my mouth twitched. I let a sigh of relief escape my lips as I closed my eyes.

"Nah, you're supposed to catch the ball! Come on one more time! Just hold your hands up to your chest, that's where I'll throw!" My voice echoed proudly. The sound of a ball hitting someones hand over and over was heard, then someone else spoke. "I don't know. I'm not a good catcher." A softer, accented voice said, and made a painful sound, as if the ball hit him. "Ahaha! Come on dude, the all only hit your chest! Come on, pick it up and throw it to my chest, but I'll show ya how to catch it. You can do that, can't you Mattie?"

My eyes shot open as a loud gasp escaped my dry throat. My head throbbing as I remembered someone important. My brother. I knew I have a brother. I couldn't see him, but I heard his voice. That's all that matters.

"Aw mom can't you stay? I don't want you-" Someone cleared their throat. "Ah, WE, don't want you to go to work! Can't you stay? We could watch movies or or..or erm..play games!" My childish voice offered, a feminine laugh filled my ears. "No no, Alfred, Matthew, I can't not go to work. I have to able to pay the bills and buy things like food. And, maybe even that video game you two begged for?" Childish voices cheered as she laughed again.

I fell to the ground, my shoulder slamming against the floor quite loudly. I chocked out a sob as tears filled my eyes. Mother...I remember her voice. So gentle, so kind, so sweet. My bony body curled up as more memories flooded back to me unwillingly.

"Hey Mattie, wanna sleep in my room?!" My voice shouted, then whispered. "We can watch Youtube all night." The small, accented voice of my brother agreed. Giggles filled the air as they cried out "Goodnight!" to the parents, and ran somewhere. Laughing and talking excitedly about how they were going to build a fort out of pillows and blankets, watch Youtube all night, and eat their hidden snacks. A door slammed shut.

Heavy, clumsy footsteps slammed against the stairs, accompanied by loud screaming and insults. My body was shaking terribly as more loud sobs escaped my throat. There was no reason to try to stop them anymore, he already was coming up the stairs. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I guess he wasn't asleep after all.

"Mom are you okay?" Matthew asked softly to the crying mother. She sniffled. "Ah, y-yes I'm fine.." She said softly. "But you're crying, and you have a black eye." I pointed out, a small punch sound was heard. "Ow, Mattie what was that for?" I hissed, he just sighed, and whispered a few things that I couldn't hear. A loud, understanding 'Oh' escaped someones lips. "Oh, well...sorry to bother you mom. Love you!"

My door was hit with a hard punch, shuttering it and even the walls. The chair that locked me in this room was thrown down the hall, shattering against the wall. I felt no fear as the door was repeatedly hit, over and over. I knew I was up for a worse type of beating when I realized why he couldn't get inside my room after throwing the chair. I had locked my door long ago. My throat clenched up as my heart started to hurt. Everything hurts. I soon realized that I have no fear for what is behind the door, I fear of my memories. So many of them flash in my mind. Some over laying others. The happiness, the joy, the laughter...the pain. Voices overlapping each other. My body shook as the door was finally kicked open, the wooden block flying off it's hinges, and landed on the ground with a painfully loud thud sound. Though I was nearly blind, I could still make out the outline of my father as he stormed up to me.

"Dad, where's mom?" I asked, a rough yanking sound followed by a cry of pain was heard. "Ow!" Matthew sobbed as he was roughly shoved against a wall. "Gone, now get your asses in your rooms and don't you ever come out!" Father shouted as he threw someone into a room, slammed the door shut, and threw someone else into another room, also slamming the door. I heard chairs moving and being placed under doorknobs. Fists and feet slamming against the doors were heard over the begs and cries of the two kids to be let out of their rooms, yet their cries went unnoticed.

Silver tasting liquid shot found of my mouth as a thick booted foot slammed into my chest. I felt my ribs popping and cracking, and the immense pain sparking through my body. Every kick resulted in me jolting, and another mouthful of blood to soak the floor. I felt the sticky liquid start to flood under my head, causing a shutter. The heavy scent of metal and alcohol was sickening. I could do nothing but watch as the boot retracted, and slammed back into my bony chest. Pain exploded throughout my body as the process repeated. Bones cracked from the strength of the kicked. My cries and sobs were unheard by my drunken father as he continued to yell and hurt me. The pool of blood under my head grew. I silently begged for another flashback, or even for one of the kicks to be fatal, something to get me away from this. But nothing came. I was forced to endure the horrific pain of my fathers beating. He'd kick my chest, then stomach, then neck, then stomach, then chest. Sooner than later, I couldn't make out what he was kicking anymore. The pain spread even in places that weren't even kicked.

I begged to Death to take me. Starved, beaten, starved, beaten, starved, beaten. The cycle that never ended, I begged for it to end. I've been begging for this life to end for what seems like years. Maybe it has been years, I don't know. But I do know one thing. I want to die. God I want to die...I want to die...I want to die..please.. I've wanted to see my brother again. I've wanted to see mother again. I want to eat again. Yet I knew for a fact that those wishes will never come true. I clenched my eyes shut as Father spat on my face, and leaned down to scream in my ear. I tried to move my arms to cover my ears, but they refused to be lifted. I was blessed, when he gave one last strong kick, sending me back against the wall, and left. The last mouthful of blood shot out of my mouth, and onto the ground. I felt the warm liquid seep down my cheeks as I reopened my eyes once I heard him thumping down the stairs, screaming insults back up to me about how I was a worthless child. A mistake. A waste of time and space. I gasped for air. The hot air didn't feel any better. My skin burned and tingled as I managed to rolled on my back. The pain was enough to make tears pour from my eyes and small please of the sweet embrace of death to take me away. I watched as my vision became tunnel, very slowly, but very surly.

Small, blood tasting gasps of breath soon turned into tiny breaths. As my vision turned darker and darker, a small smile tugged at my lips. I'm finally going to die. Something I've wished for for God knows how long. I felt the blood slipping from the corners of my mouth, but the pain in my body turned into pricks and needles, and nothing more. The pain faded away, as my eyes slowly shut. The last, soft sigh escaped my lips that were permanently stuck in a smile on my face. I the last thought to cross my mind was more of a wish than a thought.

Maybe the next life will be better.


	4. Roderich Edelstein: Guilt

I used to be able to walk. Not that I liked doing it. I remember how hard it was to walk around from place to place. I used to own many different corsets, and being asthmatic didn't help with the fact that I couldn't breath normally. I've been asthmatic since I was a young child, so I wouldn't really go outside much. I wore corsets to cover the fact that I wasn't exactly in shape due to me being more of an inside person. I never liked going outside, all the bugs and heated air bothered me. I used to have a lot of money, my parents did anyways. They used to pay for my piano lessons, the performances, everything. I remember how when I asked them for my first corset, they asked what colour I wanted. They never judged how I was, and what I wanted to do. They never said that corsets were for women only. They never said that I wouldn't make it as a musician.

I would have much rather have them tell me that I would probably end up like I am now, then have them lie to me like that again. Not that they can ever lie to me, not anymore. I grabbed the bridge of my nose as I remembered the past. The car crash was so sudden. I've heard of drunk drivers hitting cars before, but never in my life did I ever expect it to be my car that was to be hit that day. I remember it clearly. The red car zooming down the street, slamming head onto my fathers car. We, my mother, father, and me, were driving to my next performance. I was to be preforming at Großes Festspielhaus, an opera house in Salzburg. It was far from where we lived, but I insisted that we go to it, for it was one of the biggest performances I would have ever done. They eventually agreed and took me on the trip to Salzburg.

It wasn't even an hour before the car was slammed into ours. The chunks of metal flying in the air, tires screeching, people screaming, the pure terror... All happening in only a matter of seconds. I could clearly remember the music sheets flying everywhere, being slightly levitated off the seat only to be slammed around. The pain. The hospital trip was in bits and pieces, I couldn't remember much of the trip. Just staring blankly at the ceiling, watching the lights, listening to the doctors saying to stay awake, and not to fall asleep. Everything was a blur after that.

I remember waking up on the bed, covered in white sheet, and wires. I couldn't feel my legs, the rest of my body was in excruciating pain. I couldn't move my legs, but I could move everything else. I remember when the nurse explained to me why I couldn't feel anything, or do anything with my legs. It was because I was paralyzed from the waist down. Though that was the least of my worries, I asked about my parents. Concerting the condition I was in, they must have been in even worse, is what I thought. I remember seeing the nurses horrified expression when I asked, I expected the bad, but not the worst. Not until she quickly left the room. That's when I started hyperventilating. Due to my asthma, and broken ribs, that didn't end out well for me.

I was ten when my mother and father was killed in the crash, when I was paralyzed. When I lost everything. The money my parents left me, I used for both the wheelchair, and my career. I tried to advance in my piano skills, to be able to become a real musician, and to be able to live normally. But, of course, that didn't turn out well. The money soon went dry, and I was forced to sell things. I started with things that didn't matter, like chairs and tables and such. I even sold my fake glasses, the ones that my father gave me. They weren't anything special, just a wire frame with regular glass. Sooner than later, I was forced to sell precious things, like my mothers jewelry and my fathers watch. It was painful to sell them, but I had to buy food and pay bills. The house was taken back by the bank once I completely ran out of money, I was just thankful that they allowed me to keep only one thing. The piano.

The piano I owned was gorgeous, I loved every bit of it. It wasn't huge, but it was heavy. The pitch black colour was perfect. The soft gold details that swirled around it. How the ivory keyboard was so easy to flow my fingers across. The small crack in one of the legs, that caused it to ever so slightly wobble. The petals were slightly uneven, the one in the middle was up higher than the others, while the other two were lower then the should be. The pedal on the right was a little rougher to press down than the others, you would have to use a little more force with it. Oh how the sheet holder leaned back. The fall board would tilt upward on one side oh so sightly. It was gorgeous.

It was a real struggle to go around, homeless, with a piano. I, of course, I had push it around, I was happy that it was the special kind with wheels. My father did that little detail himself, because he would move around the furniture a lot. He hated moving the piano due to how heavy it was, so he added the wheels to make it easier on his part. I did get many, many strange looks for going down the street in a wheelchair, pushing a piano. I wasn't that strong, but I managed to push the piano down an empty alleyway. It fit just right, it looked so beautiful. I played it ever night, and every day, until my fingers would bleed. Sometimes, people would throw money at me, even if it was only just a few dollars, I was thankful. It was a horrid life though. I slept in my chair, and when I rolled out of the alleyway, I had to trust that no one would do anything to my piano. I had just barely enough money to live, I would only have enough to buy a small loaf of bread many once a week.

This week, however, was different. I saved up for quite a while to get something special. I haven't bought food for heaven knows how long, but it was for an important cause. My carrier was over, if I ever even had one. There was no point in trying anymore, I lived in an alleyway for heavens sake. I'm over twenty years old, and I've gotten no where. I've been haunted by something, ever since that day. My throbbing, bleeding fingers stopped playing when someone threw a quarter at me. I slightly looked down at the orangish keys, for over time the white has disappeared due to my fingers bleeding so much. I tried to keep it clean, but after a while I've given up everything.

It seems that there is no point anymore. My music has gone dull to my ears. My parents death was my fault, and I know it. If I had never convinced them to drive out there to go to that stupid performance. This ever would have happened. I looked down at my legs, the stupid, dead legs. I squinted my eyes as I tried to move them, but nothing came. "Damn." I hissed as I slammed my fist on my knee, I felt nothing from my leg. My hand, however, felt the pain. From it already bleeding, it felt even worse. I sighed as I leaned back, staring up at the sky.

I thought that I would make it farther in life, but no. I wasn't exactly the greatest and the piano, but in my words I was pretty damn good. I used to be a loved pianist, being offered many different things. But something happened, and that something was the accident. I don't know why, but somehow that crash caused my reputation to die with my parents. I sigh escaped my cracked lips as I sat up straight. I grabbed the wheels, and pushed them back until I saw the quarter. "People are so stingy over money now a days." I said quietly as I leaned down, and picked it up.

It wasn't exactly what I needed, but it was close enough. I rolled forward, and closed the fall board, the stared at the small money stash that I hid behind there. I tilted my head, counting the money, then adding the quarter to it. A little less then seven dollars, perfect. I gently grabbed all the money, setting it in my lap. Was I really prepared to do this?

Yes. Yes I am. What is to happen is what I deserve. I've killed my parents. I lived while they died. I shouldn't have lived, I can't live with myself now knowing that it was my fault. Everything that's ever happened was all my fault. The time my father lost thousands of dollars to his company was my fault. I gave him a stupid idea that only ended in debt. When my mother tripped down the stairs and snapped her ankle, it was my fault. I called her down the stairs to see my new 'Masterpiece' when she didn't come down fast enough, I hurried her. When fathers first wife left him, it was my fault. I told him about her cheating, and even if I thought it was the right thing to do...it obviously wasn't. He was so depressed.

Everything was always my fault, the more I thought about the past, the more things that I realised her my fault. I can't remember a single good thing I've ever caused. My stupid dream of being a musician was crushed. I scoffed. Just like my legs. I shook my head as I grabbed the wheels, and rolled out of the alleyway. No more thinking about the past, not yet at least. I still have a single job to finish. I ignored the stares I got as I rolled up the street. The store wasn't too far from where I was at, I've noticed it quite a few times, it was a wonderful store.

I made my way up to the front door, and pushed myself in. The small ding of the bell filled the silenced air. I looked around, smiling softly as my shoulders relaxed. I knew exactly what to get. It wasn't very big, but it was in my budget and able to do the job. I grabbed a small, silver pocketknife. "Ah, that's a good one, sturdy." Someone said, I turned and looked at them. "Ah...y-yes..I'd like to get this one." I said, holding my shaking hand up to him, handing him the knife. The owner of the store took the knife, and looked it over. He then looked down, and at my lap. "You're going to pay with mostly coins?" He raised an eyebrow, I felt my face start to burn as I looked down. "Hard life...I-I'm the mus-...pianist that plays in the alleyway, I'm s-sure you've heard me before."

He smiled. "So you're that guy! Yeah I've heard you before. C'mon let's go to the register." He turned around and walked away, I quickly followed him. "So what are you gonna do with the knife? I would have thought that you would of bought food instead." He asked, not looking up as he set the knife down. I grabbed all of the money off of my lap and set it on the counter. "Well...I...my piano needs...to be fixed in some places..and the only way to fix it-" He nodded, and held up the knife. "Is with a knife? I don't know Jack diddly about pianos other then they're fucking huge. Here, it's on the house." I looked at him with shock. This was perhaps the nicest thing anyone has done for me...in years. "Y-you mean it? You're not getting my hopes up?" I asked, gently taking the knife, my hand still shaking.

The man ran a hand through his blond hair. "Nah, it's yours. You seem like you need the money for something else more important." I stared at him for another few seconds, before smiling. "You are the nicest person I've ever met." I complimented as he handed me back the coins and couple of dollars. He grinned and patted his chest. "Thank you, now go on and get something to eat. Cause trust me, you look like you need it."

When I went back to my piano, I set the money back where it belonged, and looked over the knife. I still couldn't believe that he just...gave it to me. I felt my eyes water as I flipped it open, and closed it, then opened it, and closed it. After all I've done, he was nice to me. Of course he was nice, he didn't know what I have done. That must be the reason...if he only knew, he would have made me pay full price. I flipped open the blade, watching the metal glint in the sunlight. My arms ached from going around, but I ignored the pain as I ran my pale finger along the blade. I inhaled slightly when my finger was nearly automatically cut.

It was definitely sharp. That was a good thing. It was a simple steal blade, nothing important. But, there was a single small cross on it. I wasn't a huge believer, but as of now it was something. I thought that maybe, just maybe, if this blade cut through my blackened heart, it could clean it from all I have done. I looked at my piano, and ran my free hand over the keyboard, I didn't press on any keys, I just let my hand feel the old keys. I looked at the blade once more. "Do you think you can cleanse me from what I have done? I've done so much. I've killed and hurt too much. I've made so many mistakes. I've caused so much damage to the world around me. Oh the pain I have caused. I killed my parents, and killed my grandmother with the news. I've wasted my parents money with my stupid dream. I've done...so..much...I'm sorry. Can I be forgiven?"

I spoke softly, and pointed the blade at my chest, I felt the sharp tip go through my clothes, and press against my skin. I looked forward, and closed my eyes tightly as I shoved the knife through my chest. A loud gasp escaped my lips, the pain shot through my chest. Tears filled my eyes as I pulled out the knife, allowed the blood to freely spill out. I pressed my hands against the keyboard, making an ugly sound, I stared at the knife, and set it down on the sheet holder.

The pain escalated with every movement I made, but I knew that I deserved it. I started breathing heavily, just to get my heart rate up, I tried to balance how I breathed. I needed to get my heart rate up, but I also didn't want an asthma attack. I wanted to grab my chest and ask for help, but I kept my hands on the keyboard, and kept my mouth shut. I took shaky breaths, and heard music. I opened my eyes, dots and different colours covered my vision, but I noticed that my fingers were slowly pressing the keys. I knew exactly what to play, the song was engraved in my mind.

My fingers slowly pressed the keys in the tune of Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 23, a slow piece of beauty. My shaking fingers missed a few keys at times, but I didn't notice. My movements became more and more disoriented, my eyelids found it hard to stay open. The pain in my chest was still prominent, but less then it was before. I soon stopped playing, and leaned back, my breaths shallow and short. My half closed eyes stared up at the sky, the light blue colour with small white clouds. I felt something I haven't felt in a long time...

I felt at peace.

A small smile found its way to my lips as I closed my eyes. It was a long, hopeless life I lived. I've made mistakes, and I've felt nothing but emptiness and guilt for everything. Yet, somehow, at this moment, everything seems perfect. As if nothing went wrong. I'm sorry for everything, mother, father, even grandmother. Forgive me for my mistakes. I felt my muscles relax, I strangely felt pins and needles everywhere, even my legs. It was wondrous.

Maybe the next life will be better.


	5. Feliks Łukasiewicz: Bullied

"Am I?" I asked, looking at my horse, the brown horse simply snorted, and laid back down. The horses name was Bronisława, she was a beautiful brown horse with light brown tones. Our family adopted her from another farm, and has only had her for about a month. She is shy, and doesn't like it when people surround her or confront her for anything. Hell she doesn't even like to be touched sometimes. Yet, I found it to be my goal to be able to make her my friend, every day since we adopted her I've always hung out with her. Always talked to her at night, always fed her, always protected her from being surrounded by either animals or people. I'd talk to her every day, and every day the confessions I've told kept getting more and more personal.

"It's like, I'm not that bad of a person. Like, I'm just different...I don't want to go to school tomorrow. I'm scared..." I muttered as I brought my legs up to my chest. My leggings rubbed against my thin, blue shirt. I always wore that shirt every time I'd talk to Bronisława, just so that way she knew it was me coming into the barn, and not anyone else trying to sneak in. She had to get used to it at first, but after a while she realised that it was only me. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, causing the bandages around my wrists to get uncomfortable. My green eyes sadly stared at my arms. I let my legs slid against the ground as my shoulders drooped. My fingers picked at my bandages. I wore the bandages around my hands, all the way up to my elbows, just to hide the cuts and scars. Every time someone asked me about them, I would use the same excuse of "I work at a farm, duh, I need to protect my arms somehow." and every time it always worked. I wasn't bullied much, but for some reason I always felt so empty. "Good think mom didn't find it suspicious." I muttered, scoffing softly. Speaking of mom, she's probably wondering where I am.

I gently rubbed my horses head, earning another snort. She slightly moved away, but not far enough for my hand to be removed from her body. I smiled softly, her mane was so soft. I can't believe that she let me pet her. "I'll be back tomorrow, Bronisława." I whispered, and slowly stood up, grunting slightly in the process. I walked out of the barn, slightly looking back at her, smiling softly as I shut the door and walked back to the house.

"Mom, you'll like, never guess what Bronisława did." I said as I entered the house, my mother turned around from the stove for a split second, smiling. She turned back around, and nodded her head. "What'd she do this time, honey?" I sat down at the table and leaned back slightly. The front legs of the chair were only about an inch off the ground. "She like, totally let me scratch her head today." I said, looking at my dark blue painted nails, some of them were chipped. I guess I'll have to fix that for tomorrow. "She did? Oh that's great sweetie! I told you that she'd grow closer to you than anyone else." She exclaimed, turning around to give me a huge grin. Her long blonde hair swayed to the side as she did so. I looked at her face, and lightly touched my own. I looked at the table, the chair hitting the ground softly. I let out a sigh. "Mom I have a question."

 _Why does it seem like everyone hates me for who I am?_

"What is it?" She hummed, I shot my head up, and grinned. "O-oh. W-what's for dinner?!" I asked, leaning back in the chair once more. She was quiet for a moment, her hands stopped whatever they were doing. "Placki ziemniaczane." She said sadly, my smile dropped a little. "Mom this is the fifth day in a row..." I replied, picking at the nail polish. "I know, Feliks, I'm sorry. You know that the farm isn't doing to well this year." Her voice was soft, and apologetic. I shook my head, causing my medium length blond hair to brush against my neck. "No no mom, it's totally fine. I don't like, hate it." I said, she slightly looked back at me and smiled. "Thank you sweetie, I promise that next year will be better."

I looked in the mirror, and bit my bottom lip. It was early in the morning, and I already felt sick to my stomach. The blue skirt was a little too small. Is that what all the girls at the school have to deal with? The black sweater was a little baggy, so that was a good thing. I looked at the dark blue ribbon in my hair, and gulped. I tightly closed my eyes, and brought my hands up to my mouth. Maybe I can change back? No. I said I would do this..and I will. I took a deep breath as I went into the kitchen. Mom waited at the door with a small bag, probably with some left overs from last night.

"Have a nice day, sweetie." I smiled at my mom as she kissed my forehead and handed me the bag. I smiled up at her. "I'm kinda scared, but like, I'm going to do it." I said, she nodded and ruffled my hair. "Now go out there and show people who you really are." I kissed her cheek and left the house. It was a long walk to school, but I felt happy knowing that my mom supported me in my decision. Hell I was practically skipping to school.

That quickly ended when I saw the school, and the fear came back. I stopped skipping and felt my eyes water. I watched as the other teens piled in the school, or stayed outside. I clenched my eyes shut as I roughly swallowed. My legs felt heavy, but I slowly I made my way forward. I took deep, slow breaths as I made my way up to the school. My hand clenched around the bag once I got close enough that people could see me. Pain rippled through my chest due to the fact that my heart was beating so fast. My face flushed a bright red. I heard people whispering as I passed them, but I tried to pay no attention to them.

I made my way up to a friend of mine, and waved my hand once she me. "Feliks?" She raised an eyebrow once I hopped in front of her. "Y-yeah." My face still burned. I scratched the back of my head with my free hand. Szarpnięcie has been my friend since secondary school. She's always kind of been there, even if she wasn't. She'd talk to me when she wanted, and stole some of my things sometimes. But I never minded, she was my only friend. I used to have a Lithuanian friend, but he moved a long time ago. "Feliks...what the hell are you wearing?" I tilted my head, and smiled softly. "I'm like, wearing the school uniform, duh." She snorted and shoved my shoulder. "Yeah, the girl uniform! Why the hell are you wearing the girls uniform?"

"I-I just t-thought that.." I stopped myself from finishing the sentence when she snorted again. I let my head fall as she laughed. I felt my eyes water as I bit my lip, I felt the eyes of other students staring at us. "S-Szarpnięcie people are staring..." I said quietly, but my voice went unheard due to the bell ringing at the same time. I felt a hand press against my shoulder, and roughly shove me back. A gasp escaped my lips as I stumbled back, and fell on the ground. Pain shot through my body once my hip slammed against the concrete. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes as I looked up at her, but she was already walking away while laughing with three other girls. I sniffled as I stood up, grabbing the bag off of the ground, and wiped my eyes with my sleeve. C'mon Feliks, you can do this. I shook my head and walked inside of the school.

Pain snapped through my body once my spine came in contact with the metal lockers. Tears filled my eyes as I fell to my knees. My stomach and back felt as if they were torn open. I held my stomach, only for my hands to be kicked. "You even have nail polish? What a fucking pussy." I whimpered once he held back his fist, I curled my head toward my shoulder and held up my hands, my forest green eyes were tightly closed, bracing for the pain...but it never came. I heard loud laughing, and cracked open my eyes. The boy was already walking down the hallway. I felt a tear run down my cheek, and quickly wiped it away. I scrambled to my feet, and ducked my head down as I went into my first class.

I looked at the wadded up paper in my hand, and sighed. This was the ninth note they've thrown at me.

 _Why are you dressed like a girl you bitch?_

 _You're such a pussy I saw you not fight back_

 _Worthless whore_

 _Pathetic nuisance_

 _You don't count as human_

 _Why don't you kill yourself you fucking slut?_

 _Slit your wrists vertical_

 _Kill yourself_

I wonder what this wonderful note will have in store for me. I sighed and decided not to open it. I dropped it on the ground. "Mr. Feliks what did you drop? A note?" The teacher said, tapping her foot on the ground. I looked up at her in horror. "W-what n-no Ms. Młynarczyk." I waved my hands, shaking my head side to side. She huffed, and pointed at the note. "Pick it up and read it to the class." I felt the colour rush from my face, my mouth gaped open in a wide O. Before I could say anything, she gave me a stern look. "If you don't read it, I will." I felt my body start to shake as I slowly reached down to pick up the note. I heard snickering behind me as I stood up in front of the class. I gulped as I slowly opened the letter. My dry mouth opened as I read it.

"Y-you worthless piece of...s-shit. I honestly don't u-understand why you d-don't...kill yourself already. A-anyone who ever loved you w-was wrong. Do you r-realize that people... just tolerate you, no-now I know w-why everyone talks behind your back. I-if you end y-your life it would make everyone else's l-life...better. You're accent is f...f-fucking retarded you lowlife, worthless faggot..." I sniffled after finishing it. The class was roaring with laughter, my face was bright red and I was trembling so awfully that I hand to lean against the wall to make sure I didn't fall against the ground. I slightly looked around the room, there was one guy who wasn't laughing. He was smirking. I narrowed my eyes and threw the note on the ground. My blood boiled once we locked eye contact. His smug expression. He knew that he wouldn't get in trouble for the note. He sneered and discretely flicked me off.

"Odpierdol sei chuju bo ci zapierdole!" I shouted, causing the class to stop laughing. The room went silent. I widened my eyes and looked at the teacher. "I-I-I d-didn-" She cut me off by pointing to the door. "Go to the principle _now._ "

I sat in the bathroom, crying in one of the stalls. I can't believe how bad this day has gone. I was bullied before, but this...this is worse. I looked at my bandaged wrists. My vision was blurry from crying. A voice in my head kept on ringing.

 _Kill yourself_

 _No one will miss you_

 _Pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic_

 _Worthless_

 _No one cares about you_

I heard door open and loud voices echo through the small bathroom. I brought my legs up and held them close to me. I felt the ribbon in my hair brush against my wet cheek. My sore throat tightened up one I recognized the voices. They were of the biggest jerks in school, the three best football players. Oh god oh god oh god if they find me I'm screwed. I clenched my eyes shut as they laughed loudly. "I can't believe he read that in front of the class!" One wheezed, the others laughed. "I know right? It was hilarious, he was trembling and almost crying!" I bit my lip and trembled slightly. I squeaked as the door to the stall I was in shuttered when a fist slammed against it.

Silence filled the air. I covered my mouth and swallowed roughly. I opened my eyes, only to see that someone was looking through the crack of the stall. "Well I'll be damned, lookie at who we have in here with us, boys." He said in a teasing voice, and kicked at the door. I jumped as it easily opened due to the kick. Of course it would open because of his kick, he's a _football_ player. He walked in the stall, and grabbed my hair, causing me to wince. He threw me out of the stall, and onto the ground. "Feliks, Feliks, Feliks. Tsk tsk tsk." He grinned, and laughed. I looked up at him, his finger was pointed down to me. "He even has a little ribbon in his hair!" He snorted, and snatched it, yanking it out of my hair. I cried out once it was tugged out, it took some of my hair with it.

I didn't have a chance to respond, before he leaned his foot back, and slammed it into my chest. I lost my breath, and almost fell back onto the ground. I felt one of his friends shoot their arms underneath my underarms, and yank me up on my feet. "S-suki.." I hissed, only to get the 'leader' to look confused. "Huh, what was that." He leaned in, cupping his hand around his ear. "I couldn't hear you, did you say, hit me? Well that's a little- well well what's this?" He asked, looking at the bandages around my hands. He grabbed one of my arms and pulled up the sleeve. "Oh-ho ho ho lookie here." He grinned evilly as I tried to tug my arm back. "I'm a farmer, I like, have to protect my hands somehow." I muttered, swallowing roughly. He ripped off the bandages...and...

I sat in my bathroom, staring in the mirror. I was covered in gross purple, and black bruises, all over my chest, back, arms, and even legs. My left eye was swollen and black. My nose still had dry blood around it. My hair was a mess...I was a mess. I looked deep in my eyes, and sighed as I placed a hand on the mirror. "You're...nothing. You're nothing but a piece of shit. You're worthless. A nuisance. Pathetic. You're a socially awkward bitch. You can't do anything right. Mistake, you're a mistake. You never should have been born. Just end your useless life." My voice cracked as tears spilled down my cheeks.

"Yeah...just end it...it would be better for everyone. My mom could sell my things and get money. The people at school could finally be happy..yeah." I knew exactly what to do. Everyone in the house owned a gun. My grandfather suggested it, saying that everyone needed them for safety. Safety against intruders, wolves, rabid animals, and other things. I only used mine once, and it was when I had to kill a rabid dog that tried to kill the chickens. I hid it in my dresser. I lolled my head to the side, and looked out the bathroom door and at my dresser.

"I'm sorry mom, for being so useless, and making you spend so much money on stupid things for me. For always being in your way. For complaining for stupid things. For not listening to the things you say. For everything. I never meant to be such a worthless child." I spoke softly as I entered my room, and went over to the dresser. "I'm sorry piers. For always talking so strangely. For always annoying everyone. For...heh I don't really have anything else. What's the point anyways. You're welcome piers for making your stupid wishes come true." I snorted as I dug around in the drawer, and finally pulled out the silver gun. I smiled as I slowly sat down, wincing at the pain of the bruises.

I pressed my back against the wall, and stared at the gun. The warm silver felt so nice in my hands, I sighed as I pressed the barrel to my temple. I looked up, my eyes watered. A smile formed on my lips as I laughed. It felt so good, the metal pressing against my head, my life soon to be ended...I felt so...happy. A single tear ran down my cheek as I closed my eyes. "So long...and...goodnight." I whispered softly, as my finger pulled the trigger.

Maybe the next life will be better.


	6. Tino Väinämöinen: Frozen

It was cold.

Always cold.

Even when the weather was nice, and warm.

It was still cold to me.

My heavy boots crunched against the thick snow. It was the dead of winter, and I was walking up the Korvatunturi mountain. Yet, now matter how hard the wind would blow, nor how deep I walked into the snow, it all felt like nothing. I was always cold. Everything was always numb to me after everything that has happened. Even in the dead of July, I would wear a jacket. I licked my quivering, purple lips, not that my freezing tongue could warm them up any. It was so cold. I roughly swallowed, clenching my violet eyes shut. The snow fell down faster the father I walked, but I never stopped. The snow was slowly reaching up my body, first it was hardly being crunched beneath my boots, now it's up to my calves.

It didn't matter, if anything it was a good thing. My heart was pounding against my chest the farther I walked, my shaky breaths were harder to take, but seemed to get quicker. The white puff of white from my mouth was more rapid. The scars that scattered all over my arms and legs were burning now, as if someone took a red hot metal and placed it all over my skin. I pushed myself forward. I can't turn back when I've gone so far. After everything I've done, this would be the last thing. My body trembled horribly as I continued on, thinking about my mistakes.

I used to have a loving boyfriend, a dog, and even a small child that we adopted from England. I remember how strange his accent was to us at first, we couldn't understand him sometimes. He said he used to live on a small metal platform called Sealand, he used to live there until he was adopted by a man named Arthur. Their names were Berwald Oxenstierna, Hanatamago, and Peter Kirkland. We all lived together in a house, though it was small, it was all we needed. I loved them with all my heart, I was so happy with them. Sometimes, I remember when they would make breakfast for me so I could have it in bed. Oh how the house would smell so good, it woke me up every time. The smells of the delicious porridge with strawberry jam, fresh bread, fresh coffee, oh how it all made my mouth water. The sound of Peter excitedly talking about how I'm going to love it, and Hanatamago happily barking and yipping at his side. The times of when we were snowed in, and we all would huddle by the fireplace, telling stories of every kind. Except scary, I remember how Peter was always afraid of horror stories.

I remember the time we first found Hanatamago. Peter was running around outside while Berwald and I were shopping for some more flour. Peter ended up running around the back of the store, and heard something yelp in pain. He said that he looked behind a pile of boxes, and found the poor dog laying there, broken leg, eyes glued shut with mucus, patches of fur were missing, and it was sitting in a small pile of blood. It scared him so much that he ran back crying to us about it. Berwald was the one that picked her up, I couldn't bring myself to pick her up in case I accidentally hurt her. We drove her to the vet, and it turned out that she had quite a few things wrong with her. Over bred, abused, abandoned, scared of people, nervous bladder reaction, worms, and a few more things. The vet said that it was going to be a very hard task to help her. Berwald and I shared the same glance, and accepted the challenge. We took her home, and Peter was excited as ever. He loved dogs, and couldn't wait to play with her. It took almost six months of nonstop work, but in the end, Hanatamago was the happiest dog I've ever seen. Playing games with Peter, bouncing around, playing tug with Berwald, she couldn't seem happier.

I was the 'mother' of the family. I always took care of everyone, no matter what. Life was so warm then. I can remember how bright the house would be around Christmas, the entire house and even the area around it would smell like cookies and other baked goods. Our friends would come over and spend a few days there. Even though it was crowded, it never bothered anyone. One of them would always get drunk on Christmas, and end up falling asleep in the fireplace. I can remember Berwald's thick Swedish accent, how sometimes he would forget to say vowels, so everyone had to piece together what he was saying. The two brothers would argue, but a lot less while they were at the house, I guess for the sake of a good friend, family Christmas. Oh I remember those times. The brightness and cheeriness, the sweetness and the exuberant, the love and the peace.

All gone in a blink of an eye.

And it's all my fault.

I was a gun collector, and I was always trigger happy when it came to intruders. There weren't many intruders, but there were some of them. I always twitch my hand to the drawer next to me every single time the door opens. I always did everything I could to protect my family. I didn't want to lose them. But, one day, it was around midnight. I was getting ready for bed, but I heard the front door open quietly, and close. I knew Berwald was in bed, and Peter was put to bed hours before. I opened the drawer next to my side of the bed, and pulled out the Kahr CW380 I hid in there. I slowly walked out into the hallway, no noise was made from my feet, but the feet that entered the house was trying to walk up the stairs. I pressed my back against the wall, then turned my self to face the stairs. The gun was pointed at the person, and I shot.

It wasn't an intruder.

It was my son.

He was hit in the shoulder, and fell down the stairs. When I turned on the light, I felt everything stop. I wasn't forgiven for my mistake. I failed to protect my family, and hurt them. Berwald left me, taking Peter with him, he even took Hanatamago. He said that if I was so careless as to not turn on the light, I was too dangerous for them. It was as easy as slapping on the switch, but I didn't do it. I should have. He wasn't far up the stairs, I could have turned on the light. But instead I was a fool. I could have killed him.

I looked at my hands, my fingers were dark purple and blue, though I didn't feel them, but my hands were pale, almost like the snow. It's been seven months since they left me, and I've been falling into some bad things. Depression, seclusion, I started drinking a lot more. I lost my job, and didn't have the money to pay bills, more or less buy food. I tried to get out and do things, but I kept on seeing Berwald or Peter, even if they weren't really there. My life was just going down a spiral. I was standing in thigh high snow, feeling it slightly melt against my pants. I felt something drip down my cheek, but ignored it. I dropped my hands, and continued to slowly make my way forward. I can't live anymore. The happiness in my life was gone, I felt no emotion but pain and regret. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish I were shot instead of Peter. Peter. I knitted my eyebrows together as I thought. Who was Peter again? I looked up, and blinked slowly. Where was I? A mountain? Why am I up here?

There must have been a reason, other wise I wouldn't have gone all the way up here, right? I shrugged off my confusion, and tried to continue forward. It was harder to do, both the snow and my breathing was a problem. The snow was up to my waist, and my breathing was strangely snow. I gave up, and slowly sunk in the snow. Burrowing down into it. I sighed softly once I went as far as I could. I looked up at the sky. Everything was so numb. My eyes grew heavy.

Someone poked their head down in the hole. He was a cute boy, blue eyes, short blond hair, a cute sailors hat. I wonder what a child like him is doing so far out here? He could get hurt or get hypothermia. "H-hey...g-go h..h...home..." I whispered up to him, but the boy just smiled. "Aw c'mon mom not without you!" Mom? I'm not a mom...I never was...was I? I lolled my head to the side, smiling. "I...i-it's c...cold..." I said quietly, the boy only laughed. It was strange, he didn't even seem fazed by the freezing cold. "Of course it is dummy, it's snowing! Now come on mom, dad and I are waiting!" He giggled, and held down his hand. I looked up at him, his small hand was perfectly toned, as if he wasn't in a freezing place at all. My limps were heavy, but I found the strength to lift up my arm. My purple and blue fingers reached up, trying to reach his. Our hands finally found each other, and he smiled. "Everything is going to be okay mom, just close your eyes." He said softly. I felt my lips slightly twitch as I nodded softly. I did as he said, and closed my eyes. My heart beat was soft, as was my breathing. For the first time in seven months, I felt happy. I felt warm again. My hand went limp from his, and everything stopped.

Maybe the next life will be better.


End file.
